


Full Belly Workout: Intermediate Course

by Chubstilinski



Series: Physical Fatness [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles, College Student Stiles, Established Relationship, Food Kink, M/M, Marijuana, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Situational Humiliation, Stuffing, Teasing, physical trainer derek, stoner stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubstilinski/pseuds/Chubstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It kind of became this <em>thing</em>, though, it’s not quite a secret, but something he just doesn’t talk about or even think about, really. Where he goes <em>all out</em> when he has some time away from Derek. They can both make some mean healthy shit, but sometimes Stiles just wants one or two (or three) double bacon cheeseburgers. Maybe a pepperoni pizza with a side of nachos and chicken wings. Stiles just likes food, okay? </p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Belly Workout: Intermediate Course

**Author's Note:**

> For my partner in crime, inspiration, amazing beta, and actual favorite [hiidenuhma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hiidenuhma/pseuds/hiidenuhma) without whom none of my fic would actually exist <3

This all more or less started when Derek took up a Healthy Eating Regime to go with his Healthy Fitness Lifestyle pretty soon after he and Stiles started dating. And okay, so Stiles could have done with some healthy eating, too, maybe. But he got used to a certain level of indulgence in his first couple of years studying criminology at the university in the next town over. He stayed in a dorm then, to assert his independence, but now he's living with Derek at the newly restored Hale manor. And Derek is a health freak. 

It doesn't really bother Stiles, but only because his own indulgence has done anything but _stop_. At first it was just something he'd do when, for whatever reason, he and Derek didn't share meals. He'd eat whatever Derek decided to cook for them (in increasingly larger portions), and he’d stick to those guidelines when he cooked himself, but at every other time, Stiles would just let himself eat whatever he wanted. He even has a stockpile of decidedly unhealthy snacks in the house, because Derek is “not tempted.” 

Derek is a completely unfair human being. Creature of the night. Whatever.

It kind of became this _thing_ , though, it’s not quite a secret, but something he just doesn’t talk about or even think about, really. Where he goes _all out_ when he has some time away from Derek. They can both make some mean healthy shit, but sometimes Stiles just wants one or two (or three) double bacon cheeseburgers. Maybe a pepperoni pizza with a side of nachos and chicken wings. Stiles just likes food, okay? 

Certain habits he picked up at school may have also affected his appetite, and it’s maybe getting to the point where Stiles can safely say he’s firmly in stoner territory. 

And fine, so maybe this has all led to him gaining a little weight. Or a lot, whatever. Stiles doesn’t really _mind_ or anything. He actually. Well. 

He doesn’t mind. 

So Stiles is working his way through a box of his favorite store-bought cookies, humming with contentment. His hand is rested on his bloated stomach as he recites familiar dialogue in his head, gaze locked on the screen as if he hasn’t already seen this movie a hundred times. He’s already gotten through a considerable amount of food today. More than usual, even. The coffee table is spread with a pizza box, the cardboard shell that once contained cheesy breadsticks, a crumpled Sonic bag, half a bag of chips, and an empty jar of queso. Stiles is full, it’s pretty safe to say. Stuffed, even. His belly is heavy and tight, but he can totally eat more. He can _always_ eat more. 

Stiles knows he’s kinda pushing his luck with this, though. Not only is Derek hotter-than-the-sun, more-built-than-a-Greek-god, walking-talking-strippergram-of-a-werewolf Derek, but he’s now _Personal Trainer Derek_. The hottest, most wildly popular personal trainer Beacon Hills has to offer. And with the range of insanely attractive people in this godforsaken town, that's really saying something. When he first started this job, once or twice Derek casually let it slip to Stiles how many more-than-friendly glances he got from single moms and gym rats that day. Not to be a _complete_ dick or anything, but mostly because jealous Stiles is well, kinda feisty. Thankfully he’s cut that out by now, but Stiles knows with absolute certainty that it hasn't stopped. 

And yeah okay, Derek _loves_ Stiles. Which is still sort of baffling in itself, but it’s a fact. Ingrained deep in his bones by now. So it’s not like Stiles is afraid Derek is going to _leave_ him or anything, and it's not as if he's shown a lack of appreciation for Stiles in a sexy way lately. But despite himself, Stiles wonders sometimes if one day enough will be enough. If Derek's attraction to him will fizzle and die with every new pound. If secretly, Derek wants him to get in shape again, would prefer Stiles's old lean muscles against his bulky ones.

For the first couple of months, Stiles was one of Derek’s best clients. If only because with everything he ate in his downtime Stiles just could not seem to drop the weight (not that he was really _trying_ to). So it was gruelling and tortuous and had Stiles really gotten _that_ out of shape since high school? And Derek had been _ruthless_ , would always push Stiles until he was dripping sweat, panting for breath, muscles shaking. He looked disappointed when Stiles said he wanted to stop, but he didn’t push. Sometimes Stiles wonders if he’d wanted to. 

But still, Stiles continues to eat like he’s _dying_ when Derek isn't around to see. It’s partially an experiment to see if Derek will say anything, because he has to know _something_. Derek does half of the grocery shopping at least; it must be obvious how much Stiles has been eating, how much pudgier he's gotten. 

But mostly. Mostly Stiles just _wants_ to. Plain and simple. Stiles loves to eat those sinfully delicious fatty foods, sure, yeah. But… he’s also grown accustomed to the fullness, craves the excess, that surprisingly pleasant _ache_ in his belly that means he's really overdone it. He wants to chase the feeling with increasing frequency, a desire that gets stronger every day, for reasons he doesn't understand. 

So that's how Stiles finds himself on the couch, completely startled by the purr of Derek's shiny new Camaro pulling into the driveway hours earlier than he’s expecting. He coughs and sputters up a lungful of smoke, flails wildly, struggles to sit up. Grabbing the evidence that litters the surface of the coffee table, he makes a break for the kitchen to hide them all away in the garbage can and the pantry. He feels caught in the act and runs for the living room, too much movement jostling his full belly unpleasantly. 

When the door squeaks open, Stiles has barely made it back to the couch, and he’s panting, heart beating frantically. He tries for nonchalance when he offers Derek a little wave and says, "Hey, baby. You're. Home early."

From the way Derek raises an amused eyebrow at him, he's completely failed at subtlety, but Stiles plows on. "I mean, I wasn't expecting you until four. Not that I wouldn't rather have you here. I mean, obviously. I missed you, you beautiful hunky man, you. You just surprised me. Uh. How was work?"

"Great," Derek says with a sly smile as he strips out of his leather jacket to reveal a t-shirt that’s so tight it has no business being seen by anyone but Stiles. So tight Stiles can make out individual muscles, pumped up from Derek's workout. His hair is wet, freshly showered. Which is a shame; Stiles really does love when Derek is all sweaty and red-faced from exertion (gym or sex-related, Stiles isn't too particular.)

Stiles takes a moment to ogle Derek's biceps and the glow of his skin while Derek continues. "Got in a couple of hours of gym time to myself before my 2:30 cancelled. Decided to call it an early day.”

And then before Stiles can respond, Derek gives him a once-over, and he looks so fucking smug. Is it Stiles’s imagination or did Derek’s gaze linger on his belly? Stiles can’t help the way that he shifts, pulling his shirt down even though he knows everything is covered. And then Derek says, "How've you been enjoying your Saturday, Stiles? Smells like you've been… productive."

Stiles doesn't know if he's talking about the weed or the food or the fact that he might've jerked off on the couch twice since that morning (and once in the shower), but it doesn't matter because Stiles is blushing hard, anyway. 

"Um, yeah? I mean, just relaxing, you know. Had a stressful week. Midterms, studying, late nights." 

Stiles's breath starts to leave him mid-sentence because Derek is _stalking_ towards him. There’s no other word for it. It’s fucking _hot_ , and no one has any right to be that hot; it just isn't fair. Derek gives him this look that’s mischievous and fond all at once and he brings his hand up to cup Stiles's cheek, swiping at the corner of his mouth. Then he draws it back and licks up the chocolate on his thumb. From Stiles's face. Which he feels go impossibly hotter, embarrassed at having been caught. But Stiles is allowed to eat cookies, okay? He’s a goddamn adult. Sort of. 

He runs the back of his hand across his mouth and starts to say something but Derek swoops in for a kiss, dipping his tongue in to taste. And before Stiles's foggy mind can catch up, Derek is walking towards the kitchen. 

Stiles’s eyes shoot wide open and he chases after him, catching Derek's muscular, hard, god that fucking _arm_ , and drawing him in for another kiss. A distracting one, with lip-sucking. Derek _loves_ lip-sucking. He looks satisfyingly dazed when Stiles stops, but springs back too quickly, pulling away and saying, "As much as I'd like to continue, I'm _starving_. Gonna need something to eat before I drag you to bed, Stiles."

Then he swats Stiles’s ass playfully. But before he can pull away, Stiles goes into full-on ramble mode. "No, Derek, love muffin, why don't you go sit down. I mean, I'll get something for you. How 'bout I make you a nice protein shake, baby. You've been working so hard all day and I've just been sitting on my ass. Least I can do, okay? Get comfy. I'll be right back, don't go _anywhere_." 

And with that Stiles tries to shove Derek at the couch and he doesn't even stumble and it's so _frustrating_ , just like the look on Derek's face: like he _knows_ something, like he's _amused_ at Stiles's expense. 

So Stiles flees to the kitchen and he sighs at the state of the counter. Pans and plates, a completely demolished bowl of batter from his possibly extensive breakfast, an open jar of mostly-gone Nutella and an empty can of whipped cream are scattered along its surface, but Stiles ignores them for now. He's scrambling in the pantry for Derek's protein powder when he feels hands at his waist. He jumps and only manages not to brain Derek or knock anything over from years of exposure to his stupid boyfriend being sneaky and terrifying.

"Oh fuck! Jesus Christ, I told you to stop doing that."

Derek chuckles into his neck and starts rubbing circles into the pudge at Stiles's hips. "Sorry," he says. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. He's got his mouth open to express how very much he doubts that, but then Derek's little massage gets greedy, intense. His hands leave a trail of heat all along Stiles's sides and they're sliding up his shirt, skin on skin. And Derek is pressed all along his back, hard planes of solid muscle sinking into the coating of chubby flesh on Stiles's body.

Fuck, there’s no way he can hide any of this now, but Stiles's brain starts to shut down; it feels incredible, and he's high and can't seem to focus. But he has a goal here, right?  "Whoa. Okay. Hey, big guy. You're. Feeling affectionate. That's cool. I'm just gonna. Gonna."

His eyes flutter closed as Derek's hands slide towards Stiles's stomach, but Stiles grabs them still and says, breathlessly, "Gonna make you that shake, okay?"

"Don't think I'm hungry anymore," Derek growls into his ear, gripping handfuls of flesh hard in his hands. Quieter, he says, "Is there even anything _left_ for me, Stiles? Or did you eat it all?" 

"Uh… no? I have no idea what you're talking about."

The circle of Stiles’s fingers is too loose. Not that he could actually hold Derek down anyway, even if he wasn’t a werewolf, but Derek's hands slip right through, and his arms wind around Stiles's middle. He can feel Derek's shudder, feel the tension in his muscles, but he doesn't know what it means and Stiles's face feels so hot and he’s biting his own lip too hard. Derek's hands clutch Stiles's belly now, and no doubt he can feel the fullness, how swollen it is. It's mortifying, but his blood is rushing like fire at the thought of Derek touching him there. Like _this_. It feels so _good_ , so much better than his own hands doing the same thing.

"Really. No idea?"

"I, um. I-I."

Derek's hand presses a little harder, right into the widest, most bloated part and Stiles has to suppress a burp in his throat. Stiles kind of wants the ground to swallow him, but he registers Derek catching a noise of his own. A gasp. And it sounded like a sexy one, but...

"You haven't had the donuts I bought you yet. Why not? They're your favorites."

"Derek," Stiles pleads, still unsure whether or not he’s making fun of him. It's not Derek’s MO, but Stiles is confused, and more than a little turned on despite everything.

"But you've had plenty of other things, haven't you, baby? More than last weekend. Mmm, and I thought you'd really outdone yourself then."

"W-what?! I. How did you-"

"Of course, it doesn't compare to Christmas vacation when you snuck out to go to that Chinese buffet."

"Oh my god!" Stiles says, pushing Derek away and spinning around to look him in the eye.

"You _knew_? This _whole time_? Derek! Why didn't you say anything?!" 

"I..."

Derek looks snapped out of it, suddenly, eyes vulnerable for just a split second before his expression settles into resolve. "Didn't want you to stop."

Stiles feels something like hope wash through his body then, but it's mixed in a cocktail of nerves and heat and residual embarrassment. His voice comes out weak when he says, "Why not?"

Derek takes a deep breath, folds his arms like he's shutting off. Or maybe like he’s trying to keep himself from touching, and Stiles feels lightheaded. He reaches out, pulling at Derek's forearms until they open and circle Stiles's waist, holding him close.

"Come here, you can tell me."

Derek buries his face in Stiles's neck, rubbing his stubble against the skin in just the way he knows makes Stiles shiver. In a low, rough voice he says, "Stiles. Do you have any idea what it's like for me? Fuck. I can hear it. The noises your stomach makes when you're too full. Can smell it. All that food on you, your skin, you-”

“Oh my god-”

“You're all flushed and warm and your heart is beating like crazy. It's. It's so fucking hot, Stiles. Can barely keep my hands to myself, every time you do this. I. I _want_ you. And-"

"What the fuck."

“-You always, always smell like sex.”

And huh, that’s interesting. It’s not something Stiles has noticed, not in a direct way. As a strapping young dude, he’s pretty much horny all the time. But if Derek thinks Stiles smells _particularly_ turned on after he practically eats himself into a food coma? Well, that’s worth looking into. After all, Derek is extremely well-versed in eau de Stilinski. 

But more importantly, if Stiles was reading this correctly… “You like it?”

" _Yes_. Do you know how crazy it makes me you only do this when I'm not here? I've been waiting for you to give in. Wanted to see it for myself, god, so bad Stiles. But I _finally_ caught you."

Stiles has to pry Derek’s face from his shoulder so he can look at him. “Well forgive me for thinking you’d be grossed out by my epic levels of gluttony, dude. You’re a personal trainer, for fuck’s sake; you make your living off of being the most sickeningly buff health nut on the planet!”

“I’m aware.”

Stiles tries to convey his confusion and _need_ by waving his arms around like a lunatic. “So what the _fuck_?”

Derek heaves a great sigh and says, “I like it. I like the contrast, the. Thinking about you gorging yourself while I’m training. Building muscle while you sit around all day and. And…”

“Get fat?”

“ _Yes_. Stiles. Sometimes I can barely get through a workout without getting hard just _thinking_ about it, what you’re doing.” 

“Holy _shit_. Derek, that’s.”

“It’s weird, I know, I-”

“No. I mean _yes_ , but. _Fuck_ , Derek. That’s… really fucking hot.”

Stiles yelps as Derek hauls him up, wraps his thighs around his waist as he pushes Stiles into the kitchen wall and seals their mouths together. He kneads the doughy flesh of Stiles’s ass and his kisses are deep and desperate already and Stiles moans into the heady feeling of Derek’s need.

Derek pulls away to whisper against his lips, “Sometimes I wish I could feel what it’s like to hold you up with human strength, if I’d struggle to fuck you like this. You’re so much heavier, Stiles.” 

He can’t look Derek in the eye, still can’t shake the embarrassment of actually being called out on his eating, his weight. Stiles’s gaze is fixed on the bunching of muscles in Derek’s shoulder, but it’s like every cell in his body is vibrating at this new frequency. He feels lit up, on edge, and god help him, Stiles is so turned on he can barely think past the haze. He pants, “Fuck, Derek. I. _God_. You _like_ that I’ve put on so much weight? Is that what you’re telling me?

“I _love_ it.”

“Oh my god, _what_? Why didn’t you just tell me that, you gigantic asshole?”

He means it to come out so much less breathy, but Derek starts kissing up his neck and he can’t help but arch into it. Absently he feels himself grinding against Derek, who’s mumbling against his skin, so low Stiles can barely hear it. “Thought you’d think it was weird. Ah, Stiles.”

“Well I, mnh, a-already think you’re weird so I guess you lucked out there.”

He trails off into a gasp as Derek brings their bodies tighter together, Stiles’s full belly squished against Derek’s ridiculous abs, and oh, Stiles can suddenly see _exactly_ what Derek meant. The differences between their bodies, brought together like this, it’s. It’s _perfect_. Add to that the way Derek is squeezing his love handles and mouthing at his throat, Stiles feels like he's melting. 

Then Derek's hands come up to frame the sides of Stiles's stomach, kneading gone gentle, tentative. Derek looks into his eyes and asks, "This okay?"

Stiles writhes a little, strangely wanting more, and says , "Yeah, yes. Ahh, feels good, Derek. You can go harder, if you want."

Suddenly Derek spins him around, off the wall, and Stiles manages to choke back his yell this time, wrapping his arms tighter around Derek's neck, before he’s dropped onto the cold surface of the counter. 

Derek slides out of his hold, creating too much distance between them, but he takes Stiles’s baggy sleep shirt with him, so Stiles is cool with it. It’s weird, though, the way Derek is looking at his naked chest; it’s like he’s never seen him before, like he’s a little in _awe_. Or maybe he’s just never let himself look his fill before, for whatever dumbshit reason. Stiles fights not to squirm under the attention while Derek spends way too long tracing the curves of his body with his eyes. Finally, he reaches out and grabs Stiles’s belly in big handfuls, with more force than before and he growls Stiles's name, lets his hands roam. Stiles is pretty sure it isn't supposed to feel this good, having someone else's hands rub his stuffed gut. 

But it _does_. His eyes roll back and he groans when Derek's palm rubs soothing circles into the bloated top of his belly. It draws his attention back to how _full_ he is, to that feeling of pressure inside him, to thoughts of just how _much_ he ate today, how much farther he was planning to go. "Ah-hh holy shit, Derek."

His other hand splays low, on the plump roll of fat below his belly button, and Stiles grinds into it, like he’s shameless, but he’s trying to bite back the noises because it makes him sound so _desperate_ , already. When he blinks his eyes open, Derek is shirtless, chest flushed, beads of sweat glittering in the sunlight from the windows. It drips into the hollows of his abs and Stiles’s eyes follow it down, down, until he catches sight of his own gut in his lap. It’s swollen and fat and pale, a stark contrast to Derek's fit, golden-tan physique. Derek’s fingers are playing with his belly, sinking into the soft flesh, and it’s so _surreal_. Stiles nearly loses it right then, nearly begs Derek to fuck him because he’s not sure he’s been this turned on _ever_. 

But then Derek starts talking. “ _Stiles_. Fuck. You have no idea how crazy you make me. Can’t, ah, can’t believe you grew so much. Got so _fat_ , baby.”

Stiles has no idea why that sends a jolt through his body. Isn’t that supposed to be an insult? But it doesn’t feel like one, not with the way Derek says it so breathlessly, so reverent, as his face inches closer. When his lips graze Stiles’s stomach, he shivers and gasps and has to look away because the sight of it makes him want to _scream_ with all the things he never knew he wanted. He wants to push Derek’s face in harder, wants him to kiss it all over. 

And then Derek's tongue sweeps a trail up over the whole dome of it, experimental and searching. Stiles can feel his shallow panting breath against his wet skin, and he's wildly elated with how much Derek seems to want this. 

But it can't be as much as _Stiles_ wants it because he's shuddering with every swipe of tongue. He doesn’t know if it’s just the weed making his skin feel so tingly and extra-sensitive, but that wet heat is shooting fireworks across his skin. He’d be embarrassed at how much he’s overreacting, except Derek is _moaning_ into his belly, eyes shut tight and brow knit together. Derek looks _starved_ for it. And now that Stiles is paying attention, Derek’s right hand isn’t on Stiles’s body and he doesn’t even need to guess to know where it is.

Derek starts planting open-mouthed sucking kisses all along the flabby underside of Stiles’s belly and Stiles grabs his hair to keep him there. "Mother-fuck! Baby, that's, _god_. Derek, you. You. Fuck, I had no idea you liked it. If, if you told me I would've, would’ve, ah."

Derek growls and bites at Stiles's plump flesh, soothes it with his tongue, and Stiles doesn't even register all the half-words and broken curses that fall out of his mouth. 

When Derek comes up for air, he’s trembling, and he looks up at Stiles with hooded, glazed-over eyes. His mouth is red and spit-slick. Derek looks fucking _wrecked_. 

“ _Stiles_ ,” he says, as his eyes flutter shut and his face falls down to nuzzle Stiles's belly.

Stiles can barely see the quick jerking movement of Derek’s arm over his stuffed gut, but he reaches down to palm Derek’s face, and in a ragged voice he pants out, “Hey, shhh, baby. Need you to calm down, okay? Want you to fuck me before you come."

Derek shudders and makes this wounded sound as he clutches Stiles's belly with his free hand. But he nods, breathes in deep, and before Stiles can register the movement, Derek surges up and takes Stiles's lips in a dirty kiss. 

When he pulls back, Stiles says, "Jesus, Derek. You're so worked up, baby. I know you've fucked me like this before. That, that time after the buffet, god, that was... _memorable_."

"But I never got to... Never got to do all the things I wanted to do to you, Stiles. And it had been _hours_ already. It wasn't like this."

Derek kneads hard circles into his gut and Stiles's voice feels weak and thready in his throat. "You are such a pain in the ass, fuck, like I would've _stopped_ you if you wanted to worship my belly, are you fucking insane?"

"Shut up, Stiles."

“Make m-aahh, fuck.”

Derek palms at Stiles’s cock as his mouth envelopes one of his tits in tight, sucking heat. Well, what little he can fit in his mouth, but, god, he tries. A+ for effort. For execution, for craftsmanship, for that thing he does with his tongue that makes Stiles want to _cry_ with how good it feels. “Ah, ah, Derek I’m. Y-need to, fuck, touch me, _please_.”

Stiles isn’t above begging, not when it gets him what he wants, and _god_ does it ever. Derek is a sucker for begging. He rips off Stiles’s pajama pants so fast he probably uses his werewolfy superspeed. Or maybe Stiles is just distracted by Derek’s tongue circling his nipple, licking all over his breasts. That’s about when he loses control of his voice, when he just can’t stop the flow of groans and whimpers from his throat. And then Derek grips Stiles’s cock in a loose fist and it’s not nearly enough.

He’s writhing now and he hopes Derek is satisfied with himself. “Oh, _god_. You fucking. Tease. _God_ , Derek.”

But instead he pulls back and Stiles whines pathetically. He cracks his eyes open and sees Derek holding out his hand, looking barely restrained. “Come on, Stiles. Want you on your hands and knees.”

Derek’s sex voice is like auditory _sin_ , has him itching to obey when his usual reaction is to push back. So even though Stiles was maybe looking forward a little too much to getting fucked just like this, in the kitchen surrounded by the evidence of his excess, he isn’t going to complain. Maybe next time. Fuck, maybe next time Derek would _feed_ him. 

He takes Derek’s hand and hops off the counter onto shaky legs, follows Derek’s lead back into the living room. Halfway there, Derek turns around to watch him walk, eyes on the jiggle in Stiles’s flesh, and Stiles would find it hilarious but he actually thinks he might faint because that's sort of really hot.

He’s glad Derek is down for doing the fucking today, because Stiles isn’t sure he has it in him. Now that he’s walking he feels acutely how packed-full and heavy his belly is, how much he kind of just wants to lay there like a lazy-ass while Derek makes him come and then pass the fuck out. 

Derek drags him to the couch and Stiles breaks away, kneels on all fours, ass towards Derek. He smacks it hard and glances back at his boyfriend, saying, "Come and get it, baby."

Normally a line like that would get him an eye roll, but it kind of looks like Derek didn't even register how lame that was. He looks _entranced_ , and then Derek is on him immediately, fingers pressing into the meat of Stiles's thighs. He feels a sharp bite on his ass cheek, in the same tingly spot where his handprint probably is, and the vibration of Derek's rumbling groan on his skin. 

It makes Stiles hiss, grind his hips into thin air. His fat gut hangs low, brushing against the head of Stiles's dick as he moves, and it's just not enough. 

Derek's hands spread his cheeks wide, kneading them almost absently as he kisses his way towards Stiles's hole. Stiles really does mean to warn Derek before he flicks his tongue inside and gets a nice taste of lube, but instead his voice comes out as a stuttering moan. After demolishing that pizza, Stiles spent a good forty-five minutes fingering himself and didn’t bother with more than a cursory cleanup. In case of emergencies. Like needing Derek's dick inside him as soon as fucking possible. 

Derek's breath stutters against his asshole and he circles one finger around the rim, slick and easy. "Fuck, Stiles, you're all ready for me?" 

"Y-yeah. I'm ready. Derek, _fuck m_ e. Do it. Please."

Derek laughs but it's a cracked, breathless thing. Stiles can hear the zip and rustle of Derek's jeans as he tugs them down, the sound of the bottle of lube Stiles left on the end table opening and then the slippery wet sound of Derek stroking his cock. And then Derek drapes himself over Stiles's back, sliding his hands around to cup his belly. Derek's cock is rock hard, just resting there against Stiles's ass and he grinds back, grinds down into Derek's hands. Can't get enough. Derek pats the full part of his stomach in a way that probably shouldn't make him so hot. "So _eager_. Wonder why that is."

"Ahh, ah. Fuck. You know why, please _god_."

"Mmm, but I want to hear you say it."

" _Go fuck yourself_ ," Stiles growls, a little mortified but mostly just fucking desperate. 

"Is it because you filled yourself up so tight? It's almost as if you _like_ eating enough food for five people in one sitting."

"F-fuck. Ah."

God, does he ever. He likes it in a way he can't describe, but it's a lot like _lust_ and _fuck_ , how had he not realized this sooner? Stiles is almost surprised he's able to string a coherent sentence together, but teasing Derek is like second nature at this point. "Maybe, maybe I. Just like the way you're so hungry to fuck me like this, that you almost came palming yourself through your jeans with your face in my belly."

"Well maybe that's because I love how you're such a glutton that you don't even stop until you've eaten so much you can barely move."

Derek shifts back to mouth at the rolls of fat on Stiles's back and palm his puffy muffin top and Stiles whines, "Well maybe. Ah, maybe you're a fucking tease oh my _god_ , get _on_ with it."

He can feel Derek's dumb, toothy smile against his skin, but mercifully he sits back, lines himself up and pushes in slow. Stiles sighs, savors the heat and stretch of it for a few thrusts before Derek starts teasing his spot with practiced ease. Stiles is too on edge; he moans and rocks back, but he wants _more_ , he wants. 

God, he can't believe he's about to do this, Derek is never gonna let him live it down, but he tugs one of Derek's hands from his hips and presses it into his lower belly. Derek falls on top of Stiles and his shaky left arm can barely hold them both before Derek catches himself. 

Stiles says, "I know you want it, baby, do it," but it sounds more like _I want it, please, Derek, please_. 

But the desperate sound that falls from Derek's throat is immensely satisfying and so, so sexy. Stiles is shaking, crying out with every hit to his prostate and every desperate clutch to his gut. 

That's when it gets a little animalistic, _intense_. Stiles feels like he's on fire and all he can hear is his own frantic heartbeat, the harsh smack of flesh against flesh, and Derek's pants into his back. He can feel Derek's strength, the power in the movement of his hips and Stiles collapses onto his forearms, crying out, trembling from so much sensation. He knows himself well enough to know he can come from just this, but he just wants a little more, more. 

He grabs his cock tight, rolls his hips into it and bites his own arm to keep from screaming. Against his hand and the sticky leather of the couch he can feel the bounce of his heavy gut, and now he's looking for it, every part of his body is rippling, alive with jiggling flesh. His belly, his tits, his arms, thighs, even his double chin, he can feel them all shake as Derek fucks him. He can barely hold himself up one-handed he's so shaky, but Derek's strength is unwavering; Stiles can see the flex of his forearm next to his face. On a whim he grinds his gut against the cushions; it almost hurts but Stiles's veins are rushing with shocks of pleasure and all he feels is _full_. 

"Mm, fuck, ahh. Oh my god, Derek. Oh my god, oh my god."

Derek's voice sounds so strangled with want as he whispers Stiles, that Stiles comes almost instantly, his entire body pulsing in waves. Absently he can hear his own moans layered with Derek's soft ones. He loses time for a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour. 

When he comes to, he's collapsed on the couch, Derek laying heavily on his back, their skin stuck together with sweat. He's breathing heavily, and his stomach is seriously protesting to having the weight of both of their bodies on top of it, but it could deal for awhile longer; Stiles is comfy. 

He maybe starts drifting off like that but he wakes when Derek starts manhandling him onto his side. His stomach flops a little off the edge but Derek holds him on in strong, possessive arms. Stiles snuggles back, humming with contentment as Derek starts petting his belly and kissing the back of his neck. 

Stiles mumbles, "I can't _believe_ you didn't say anything. We could've been doing that  _this whole time_? Oh my god, you suck _so_ hard. And not in the fun way. Well, sometimes in the fun way. Actually, I think you should really do a lot more of the sucking-in-a-fun-way to make it up to me for _not telling me you're into this_ for _months_."

"Well we're just gonna have to make up for lost time, aren't we?"

"...Oh no, I don't like that tone of voice, Derek. I don't wanna know what you're thinking. Nope. Don't even tell me."

"What, you're not hungry, Stiles? After that workout I think you definitely have some room."

"Oh god."

"Are you sure you don't wanna know?"

"Okay _fine_ , I wanna know. Tell me, how, exactly, are we gonna make up for lost time."

"First I think you should tackle those donuts I got you."

"All of them?"

" _Yes_. And then I was thinking we should eat out tonight. Are you in the mood for Chinese?"

"The buffet?"

"I want to watch you eat as _much_ as you can, Stiles."

There's a pause in which Stiles struggles to keep his breathing level, make it seem like he's _considering_ it, but Derek can definitely hear the excited thump of his heart. 

"Go get me those donuts."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and play with me over at my **[tumblr](http://www.chubstilinski.tumblr.com) ♥**


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